


think of me, think of me fondly (when we've said goodbye)

by crystaldeer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Alternative Universe- Phantom of the Opera, Bittersweet Ending, Implied Violence, Implied mature content, Literal Ghosts, M/M, Past Character Death, Phantom of the Opera AU, Viktor with a K, but also not really, ghost - Freeform, implied suicide, this is really long I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 01:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10374831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystaldeer/pseuds/crystaldeer
Summary: [...] Before he can thank him again, however, a distant melody fills his ears, and as he pays attention, Yuuri is quite surprised by what it is. “Is that… Viktor Nikiforov’s aria?”“Stay By My Side and Never Leave Me? Yes,” Yuri sighs, “yes, it’s Viktor’s damn aria.”“Who is playing it?”“I don’t know, sometimes people play this song here. It’s normal.”“Oh, I know!” Phichit is playful, cleaning his hands with his napkins, “I heard this place is haunted by a ghost, Yuuri."[...]or; in which Yuuri is sent to train in Russia, and is haunted by a ghost





	

**Author's Note:**

> whew, finally
> 
> I finished this piece in December, a week before the anime ended, and wanted to post it quickly, but as my beta got too much work I felt like it was unfair to them to post it with the beta'ing incomplete-- but March is ending, and I feel like it was past time to let this go
> 
> so, many special thanks to melonkollie @ tumblr for helping me with the first ten plus pages, I hope you're doing okay
> 
> as for anyone else, enjoy it... I'm sorry I wrote fucking 30 pages, but please by all means sit back and enjoy the ride
> 
> edit (27/03/17): thank you so much to amusicboxmelody @ reddit for providing additional revisions! really, I can't thank you enough!

Inside his layers of clothing, wrapped in his scarf that smells like home, Yuuri wonders if he can somehow see his house from Russia as he gazes across the horizon. It’s the only thing he can keep his mind on, so he won’t flood himself with strings of meaningless thoughts, most of them regarding things that do not matter anymore and some of them regarding things that matter but are most likely not as bad as they seem. 

Yet, here he is, walking through the streets of St. Petersburg. Yuuri Katsuki was more or less convinced to abandon his plans of  retirement by Celestino and sent to train in a foreign country, just because his almost-nieces recorded him trying to mimic the routine of a dead man in his moments of privacy. It seems as if the world knows he doesn’t have a future and wants to keep watching his trainwreck of a career instead of just _leaving him_ _alone_. Yuuri doesn’t even know how he will be able to walk through the ice rink door for the next year and face all his contemporaries without throwing up at the sight of them.

“Yuuri, come on, we’ve arrived,” Phichit says at his side, offering his most encouraging smile. 

Yuuri has anxiety oozing from his pores.

For what it’s worth, Phichit is here, so perhaps it won’t be so bad. If he had to face this unfortunate situation all by himself, he would have probably combusted on their way here. 

Yuuri can make out the figure of a person behind the big, frosted glass door. Each second it takes for them to unlock it is more tortuous than the next, until a red-headed young woman eventually emerges to greet them with an intimidating smile. 

“Hello, Yuuri Katsuki and Phichit Chulanont," her rough accent rasps at the _rs_ and _chs_ , “and welcome to Russia! I’m Ludmila Babicheva, but please, just call me Mila. No formalities between us. Come this way.” 

Somehow, the air inside feels colder than outside. The St. Petersburg ice rink is noticeably impressive compared to the Hasetsu one. Probably because this place aims to train professionals.

Mila leads them through a long corridor, red velvety carpet on the floor and walls filled with pictures, trophies, and newspaper articles from previous skaters. A lot of them Yuuri doesn’t recognize, people from an era distant from his, black and white pictures that slowly turn into faded colors and then bright saturation. 

She explains something to them, probably something important that Yuuri will regret not listening to—but when he spots a familiar face amongst the big portraits on the walls, Yuuri can’t help but stop and stare.

Viktor Nikiforov. 

National pride of the then-USSR and still to this day legendary, Viktor Nikiforov snatched five consecutive gold medals in various competitions—one of which he proudly holds in one hand as he smiles into the camera. In the photo, he wears his famous lilac costume from the 1975 World Championship. 

There’s a lot to be said about Viktor, but very few images exist of his skating—the easiest footage to find is this one, from 1975. Even in poor quality film, he is impressive. 

No one has been able to overcome him, and no one ever will, in Yuuri’s opinion. 

Information about Viktor after 1976 is scarce—rumors talk about some sort of scandal, but sources never elaborate on it. He suddenly retired that year and disappeared from the public eye until December, when his fellow competitor Yakov Feltsman found his lifeless body—supposedly in the changing rooms of this very ice rink. The circumstances of his death remain unclear. 

Viktor was 27 when he died, would probably have retired sooner or later anyway. If he were alive, he would be a coach here, just like Yakov. He would be much older than Yuuri, old enough to be his father—but having died so young, he remains immortalized as a beautiful young man, his delicate features and clear eyes forever imprinted in popular culture.

Yuuri wonders about Viktor’s potential destiny sometimes, had he lived. If he was indeed a coach here, Viktor would probably be a rigid one and would only train the best skaters—and Yuuri doesn’t think he qualifies as one of the best.

He looks angelic in the portrait, almost like a religious icon. He sure is a spiritual influence for Yuuri, who first saw Viktor’s routine as a young kid watching a documentary and could never shake it from his head. 

“He was amazing, wasn’t he?” Mila appears at his side and Yuuri hopes his surprise doesn’t show. He does not want to ruin his reputation so soon.

“Yeah… He is my idol," he answers, truthfully, and immediately regrets opening up to a stranger.

“He is everyone’s, I mean, he is a legend! We can only hope to get close to him. That’s why everyone trains so hard.”

“You could be like him if you train harder, Yuuri!” Phichit beams next to him.

“Did you even see my scores last year?” 

“Well, yeah, but then you did the Viktor routine so well—and now here we are!”

_ And now here we are, yes _ . No one was supposed to know that Yuuri tried to mimic his dead celebrity crush in his free time, and knowing that Celestino seeing the video is the reason why Yuuri was forced to skate professionally again absolutely does not bring him any peace of mind. It’s pretty much the opposite; Yuuri knows he won’t live up to expectations.

For lack of an answer, he just walks away, soon followed by the other two.

The ice rink, he notices, is much more crowded than the Hasetsu one would ever dream to be. He knows Russians take figure skating very seriously, but it’s still unnerving seeing just how many people occupy the same space and train at the same time. 

Yuuri doesn’t like being watched while training; he would prefer not having his competitors’ eyes on him. _ Because, in the end, they are just competitors, aren’t they?  _ They can be friendly—they have to be—but no one can lie that they wouldn’t love to see their mates fail so they can succeed.  

“Yakov will be here soon; you two make yourselves at home, please.” Mila smiles and Yuuri almost believes it’s sincere. 

A quick scan through the room and Yuuri knows most of the other skaters already recognize him. They mostly roll their eyes, others look confused, and he is pretty sure he saw some actually giggle at his arrival. 

Just how long is the distance between Russia and Japan, again? Maybe he could just swim back home. 

“Woah, Yuuri, there are so many people in here! Look, there’s Georgi!” Phichit is, of course, very excited about the whole ordeal, pointing at one distant corner. “Damn, he always looks so angry, doesn’t he? I guess it’s because his girlfriend broke up with him and is dating a guy way hotter.”

“How do you even know so much about other people’s lives?” Though what Yuuri really wants to ask is, “ _ Why do you care _ ?”

“You say that as if I am such a gossip; she literally posted a selfie of them together on her Instagram. A  _ post-sex  _ selfie.” Phichit’s smirk is insufferable. 

“Phichit _ , please. _ ”

“What? Not my fault people like to post obviously-naked-under-the-cover selfies on social media.”

Yuuri merely grunts “I guess,” and focuses on lacing his skates. He is actually very lucky he knows almost zero Russian, so he doesn’t have to understand what everyone is whispering. When he finishes, he gets up and studies the rink, trying to move at his own pace while skating in the biggest area he can. 

Ice is ice anywhere; he could be in Hasetsu, or Detroit, or here, in St. Petersburg, and water would remain water and the ice would remain cold and hard and so beautiful and so challenging. 

It’s been awhile since he last stepped in his old ice rink in Detroit, the structures there deteriorating just like most of the city itself. The rink in St. Petersburg looks brand new, even if it definitely is not. Comparing the two only confirms how out of place he feels here amongst the  _ crème de la crème _ . 

“Yuuri Katsuki," a stern voice calls. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Yakov has arrived.

He does anyway because no one can say Yuuri Katsuki is not polite.

There is something very Slavic about Yakov Feltsman, with the way his strong jaw closes in a square shape, how his huge nose points at his interlocutors while his rough features and wrinkled eyes remain austere. There are old pictures of him everywhere; he was never what you could call a particularly attractive person but age has undeniably worn him. 

Yuuri doesn’t know if Yakov and Viktor were close, or if they were even friends. He is afraid to ask. 

“Yes, sir, thank you for receiving me here,” Yuuri answers for lack of anything better.

“Loosen up, Yuuri, you’re not in the military. But I will already warn you that I’m not soft like Celestino.” 

This is, Yuuri supposes, Yakov’s way of saying he is not pleased either with their current predicament. 

“I understand, sir.”

“I do hope, however, this season you will spend under my wing will be profitable, for us both.”

“I expect that as well, sir. I will do my best,” says Yuuri. Even if his best were proven to be not exactly  _ enough _ . 

“Then do some simple jumps for a start, while I talk to my other skaters.”

And Yuuri does, knowing Yakov will probably not pay attention because there are more important people in the room. He tries some toe loops and other easy moves so he won’t embarrass himself—and even though he knows he is not the most delicate skater in the world, he likes to think he is doing well and that he can still do the easy things—until he spots blond hair and slips, falling right on his butt to the ice.

“Well, look what we have here.” This is bad. This is  _ really _ bad.

Yuri Plisetsky. Fucking  _ Yuri Plisetsky _ , competitive world figure skating sweetheart, grace and looks of an angel, pure teenage hormones and rage and potential. The only one specialized media ever dared to say could come close to the legacy of Viktor Nikiforov, and he is  _ only fifteen _ . Whenever he skates he looks like a sylph, ethereal and out of touch, but Yuuri still remembers when he broke down in the bathroom during the Grand Prix and Yuri had snapped at him and made him feel like a small child.

But  _ of course _ he will have to face Yuri Plisetsky every day.  

“Not gonna lie, I didn’t really think you would un-retire after last year’s embarrassment. I guess you’re not such a coward after all.”

Yuuri wants to answer with some smart comeback such as, “ _ Oh, hi Yuri, I see you didn’t reach puberty yet, _ ” but all he says instead is, “Yeah… I guess I’m not.”

“Well, try not to fall too much,  _ Piggy _ . You’re not gonna get in my way.” 

And just like that, Yuri pushes past him, gliding so smoothly and leaving Yuuri so jealous, for not even when he was a teenager did he have the grace that Yuri has. He really shouldn’t let a kid tear him down like this, but he is powerless in the face of his own negativity and self-doubt.

“Yuri is a  _ prima ballerina _ , through and through,” a woman’s voice says behind him.

Yuuri turns, but doesn’t know who the woman staring at him is. She is most likely as old as Yakov, but so beautiful, the wrinkles that adorn her face mere accessories that highlight her overall appearance. Her posture is straight and firm, and she looks down at Yuuri with elegance. Her clothes are impeccable and probably expensive. 

“Ah… Yuuri Katsuki, nice to meet you, ma’am,” he scrambles to his feet and bows before remembering this is not how they do it, quickly straightening himself and extending his hand.

“Lilia Baranovskaya,” her voice is unimpressed, her grip is firm and her hands are cold and bony, “I am a coach of sorts for young Yurotchka. He stills needs to work on his social abilities, but I don’t think you, as an adult, should let him get to you either.”

“I know. I apologize, ma’am.” 

“Don’t apologize for me, apologize for yourself.”

Mrs. Baranovskaya walks away, looking for Yuri, who is somewhat listening to Yakov. 

This is going to be a long,  _ long _ season.

xXx

They have dorms for the skaters who don’t live in St. Petersburg and, surprisingly, most of them don’t. The dorms are very similar to the American university’s ones, with a common area for fraternizing and a dining area. The dining area, however, is just that; there are no cafeteria services, so visitors must bring their own food. 

Phichit and Yuuri’s knowledge of Slavic cuisine is virtually none, so they resort to eating Subway sandwiches. All Yuuri really wants is his mother’s  _ katsudon _ ; he should have frozen dozens of bowls and brought them along. 

“You guys don’t know how to cook?” Mila asks, placing a lunch box in front of them. She sits without asking for permission.

“Not really, no.” Phichit grins, picking the lettuce leaves that keep falling from his sandwich. 

“I do,” Yuuri says, “but I didn’t have the time. Besides, I don’t have a kitchen.”

“You can use the kitchen that we have here! As for time, well, I cook a bunch of stuff once a week, and then I just reheat things.”

Mila opens her box and reveals some sort of beef stew that looks delicious, but Yuuri is too bashful to ask to try it. Besides, he doesn’t think what he is eating is a good trade for homemade food.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri spots Yuri in a tiger hoodie. His hopes for the the cold shoulder treatment die when Mila shouts, “ _ Yurotchka _ ! Come sit here!” 

Great. That’s just  _ fantastic _ . 

Yuri raises an eyebrow when noticing Yuuri and Phichit but, surprisingly, sits down anyway. 

Yuri’s dinner is different from anything else that Yuuri has seen before; a deep scarlet soup and baked buns which Yuri keeps dipping in the rich broth. “What is this?” Yuuri asks, having forgotten that he is awful at small talk. 

“ _ Borscht _ ,” Yuri points at the soup, “and  _ pirozhki _ .” That doesn’t really explain much, but Yuuri doesn’t want to test his patience. 

“Your grandfather made those for you, didn’t he?” Mila smiles with the affection of a big sister. 

“Yeah, he did.”

“He always brings you food, doesn’t he?”

“Of course he does, old hag. He is my grandpa.” 

Mila keeps teasing Yuri like they were the same flesh and blood, and if Yuuri didn’t already know any better, he would have thought they were siblings. The scene reminds him of Mari, and of warm family nights. 

He probably should call home later.

Yuri eyes Yuuri’s empty paper wrappings, and silently offers a  _ pirozhki _ . 

Yuuri looks at the quiet offer, looks at the young boy and lightens up completely, “Really?”

“Just take one. Grandpa always makes too much for me.”

“Thank you, Yuri.”  _ I guess you’re not as tough as you seem, after all _ . 

He bites it and is surprised by the meat filling, being instantly reminded of Chinese  _ baozi _ . Before he can thank him again, however, a distant melody fills his ears, and as he pays attention, Yuuri is quite surprised by what it is. “Is that… Viktor Nikiforov’s  _ aria _ ?” 

“ _ Stay By My Side and Never Leave Me _ ? Yes,” Yuri sighs, “yes, it’s Viktor’s damn aria.” 

“Who is playing it?” 

“I don’t know, sometimes people play this song here. It’s normal.”

“Oh, I know!” Phichit is playful, cleaning his hands with his napkins, “I hear this place is haunted by a ghost, Yuuri!”

“A… A  _ what _ ?”

“A ghost!” Phichit’s pitch falls as if he’s trying to scare him. 

“There’s no ghost!” Yuri snaps, “This is just some silly urban legend people like telling to scare newcomers—and sometimes people play with it, like right now, but there is no ghost! Ghosts aren’t real, and this place is  _ not _ haunted!”

“Oh, Yurio, you’re no fun,” Phichit groans. 

“What did you call me?”

“Phichit, Yuri is right,” Yuuri intervenes before someone gets red soup all over their faces, “of course there isn’t a ghost! This is just silly.” But his voice wavers. Of course it does.

“What? Is the piggy afraid of ghosts?” 

“Japanese people are very superstitious towards spirits,” Phichit answers. 

Phichit is right, but still, “No, that’s not it! It’s just, very unnerving to think this place could be haunted…” 

“Well, but it isn’t, so you two better get over it.”

“Mila, where do you stand on it?” Phichit asks. 

“I think the Rink Ghost is real,” she answers without taking her eyes off her meal.

“ _ Mila _ , don’t you dare, old hag—”

The argument towards the existence of ghosts—or lack thereof, with Phichit and Mila even searching on YouTube for those fake videos where people hunt spirits—surprisingly took a big weight off Yuuri’s shoulders. His feelings of loneliness subsided.

At least for now. 

Yuuri unlocks the door of his temporary bedroom and collapses on the bed. It’s not the worst bed he’s ever laid in. The sheets and pillow smell too much like detergent, though, and he misses the way his own at his home always smell like him, even if washed. 

Just as he gets up with the intention of showering and then hibernating until the next morning, he notices he landed on a note. 

The paper is yellowed, as if by age. Yuuri carefully unfolds it; it reads,

_ “Welcome, dear stranger, to my home country. I hope you will find your experience quite enjoyable. Although, next time, try not to let your anxiety get the best of you. I’m sure you can do your jumps better than that.” _

Yuuri cycles from shock to confusion to annoyance. Who is this person? The handwriting was unlike anyone’s he knew, and as far as he’s aware he is the only person who has access to this room, at least for now… 

Except maybe the cleaning staff? Did someone ask the cleaning lady for her to place this note on his bed? Could he answer the note and ask her to return it? 

In the end, Yuuri just throws the note in the trash, determined to forget about it.

The next day, he gets another note with similar advice, which he equally throws out.

He gets another note on the day after that, and the day after that.

At the end of his first week, he starts keeping them.

xXx

“ _ Stop! _ Stop it, Yuri, that’s enough.”

Yuri glares at Yakov from under his blond bangs, breathing heavily. 

For the past two months, they’ve been developing routines based on Greek concepts of love:  _ Eros _ , the erotic, passionate longing, for Yuri, and  _ Agape _ , the divine, unconditional love, for Yuuri. Yuuri is doing fine on his own program, but there is a certain humiliation in not being able to perform an adult and mature number in the eyes of Yakov, who so easily switched the two routines after young Yuri complained. 

“I gave you the benefit of doubt in thinking you could do the  _ Eros _ routine, Yuri,” Yakov clears his throat, “but I don’t think you should, not anymore. From now on, you will be the  _ Agape _ and Katsuki will be the  _ Eros _ , as I originally envisioned.”

“ _ What the hell? _ I can do a ‘mature’ routine if that’s what you—“

“ _ Yuri _ , my word is final. Either start practicing the  _ Agape _ or you won’t have a routine at all.”

“What, you think the  _ pork cutlet  _ over there can seduce someone?” Yuri snarls at his homonym, who watches the scene. 

“Ugh, I… Well…” Yuuri stumbles on words. He was not expecting Yuri to  _ fail _ anything, and certainly was not planning to replace him.

“Well,  _ can you _ , Katsuki?” Yakov also turns his attention to him.

Everyone in the rink is watching expectantly. Yuuri takes a deep breath—two, three—and nods. The violin chords start. 

Yuuri let go. 

He glides over the ice, not remembering the exact sequence that was choreographed for Yuri, but surging with a newfound confidence, improvising the steps in a way he hopes is seductive enough until he needs to make the jumps. The first is a Triple Axel and he knows his take off was not perfect but he finishes the jump anyway; the second is a Quad Salchow, which ends up being a Triple Salchow, for he falls on the ground but gets up as quickly as possible. The last step, a Triple Toe combination, almost kills him and he knows his execution is terribly clumsy but, he did it. He finished the routine, as asked. 

When Yuuri turns back to look at his improvised audience he expects a bland gaze, but instead, to his genuine surprise, Phichit and Mila, who were also watching tentatively, cheer at him and if he could let his cynicism behind, Yakov would look  _ impressed  _ even, much to a young Russian Yuri chagrin. 

“I must admit I wasn’t expecting that, Katsuki. Your take offs and landings still need some major improvement, but your technique is competent enough. So it’s settled.”

“What, Yakov, are you serious? He didn’t even complete the Quad Salchow!”

“Yuri, stop being a child, my decision is final and you will respect it. But, say, Katsuki,” Yakov turns his attention to Yuuri “how did you improve so fast? You certainly couldn’t even think of doing such complicated jumps a few weeks ago and we have not been practicing enough. Are you practicing in secret?”

He looks at his shoelaces and counts them, counts the loops and holes, “I’ve been coming here during the night when I can’t sleep.” He doesn’t mention he has chronic insomnia.

“Hmm… You’ve been not getting help, have you, Katsuki?”

“Well, yes, no, I mean, no, I…”

“ _ Are _ you? Or are you  _ not _ ? If you have a secret coach I don’t know about, then my job here is useless, agreed?” 

“It’s just! You wouldn’t believe me, I… I don’t know who is helping me…”

Yakov’s eyebrows rise so highly they could disappear. “You don’t?”

“It’s, I… I’ve been getting notes at night about my performance, and when I come here alone sometimes I hear someone talking to me and giving me advice? I, I don’t know, I swear I’m not lying…”

“Oh my god, it’s the Rink Ghost!” Phichit almost shouts, definitely more excited about this than anyone should be. 

“Phichit, don’t…”  Yuuri pleads quietly, but it’s in vain, everybody heard it already. 

“The ‘Rink Ghost’?” Yakov mocks “You couldn’t possibly believe such foolishness…” 

A sharp noise of heels clacking on the hard floor, “Yakov, dear, just because you deny having seen something it doesn’t mean it’s foolish.” Mrs. Baranovskaya stands before him, her gaze cold and serious.

“Lilia, we’ve talked about this before,  _ many times… _ ” Yakov grumbles and Yuuri feels he is slowly piecing together something very important.

“Indeed we did talk, and you know how picky our dear ghost is, so if he took young Yuuri under his wing we should only rejoice.” Sshe looks at him but Yuuri can’t tell if her smile is sincere or not.

“There is no such thing as a ghost in here and I won’t tolerate any more word on that, from  _ anyone _ .”

Mrs. Baranovskaya arches her manicured eyebrows, but chooses to say nothing else on the topic. As she walks always, the other skaters who gartered around slowly go back to their places, and the day moves on as if nothing happened, even if Yuuri knows he won’t be able to shake that little exchange off his head so easily. 

xXx

It is 1 AM, later that night, when Yuuri decides he can’t sleep and, like every night since he arrived in Russia, he seeks the ice rink again to practice and tire himself out.

The place is freezing and silent like death and Yuuri wouldn’t have it any other way. Whenever he sneaks in during the late nights, he never turns the lights on, preferring to be illuminated just by the streetlamps outside. Alone, at least, he can clear his mind and skating can become his favorite escapism one more time.

He goes through the  _ Eros _ routine again and when he makes the same mistakes, he decides to go by a different exercise tonight and chooses his favorite distraction: Viktor’s routine. Rationally speaking, it shouldn’t be relaxing because it is actually one of the hardest ever choreographed and yet Yuuri always found some sort of odd catharsis from its complexity, perhaps because he never tried to skate it for anything other than nothing else than his own personal satisfaction. 

It is, after all, much easier to perform when there isn’t the pressure to perform  _ well _ .  He doesn’t really finish the final jump and that’s alright because he doesn’t have expectations that he really can reach that level. 

If anything, it’s moments like this that leave him wondering if things wouldn’t be easier if ice skating was just a hobby and he worked in an office just like any other young man fresh out of college like him. 

Yuuri looks at the lights outside and that’s when the  _ Aria _ starts playing again. 

It’s been awhile since he started receiving all those notes and he started listening to someone giving him advice whenever he comes by all alone. Yuuri is ambivalent towards the situation, at first he tried to ignore it and supposed that homesickness was driving him literally insane and even as he reluctantly decided to listen to his friendly correspondent, he tried really hard not to think about the implications of all, lest he goes mad.

How can he, however, rest calmly when he doesn’t know who is watching him all this time?

“Hey, so…” Yuuri begins because he is alone after all and it’s worth trying “It’s been some time since I’ve started training here, and I know you have been watching over me, so… Who are you? Why are you trying to help me? Why are you always hiding?”

Yuuri turns around and tries to project his voice as if to reach somewhere else.

“I won’t be upset whoever you are, I just need to know because you have been so helpful and… Please, tell me who you are…”

The rink remains quiet. 

Of course it remains quiet, what was he expecting? He is probably just insane and lonely and was imagining things all the time; how could he talk to empty space and cold air and expect an answer? There’s no one else here, there never was, he took a rumor too seriously out of desperation for… Something, anything, really.

Yuuri spins around and gets ready to leave and get some deserved rest, when the music stops.

“ _ Would you even believe me if I showed myself to you, dear?” _

It’s the voice, the same voice who has been whispering lessons and praise whenever he comes by. It’s the voice that is probably not real and lives only in his head but damn if he is not willing to do anything this persuasive imaginary voice wants.

“Yes, I would! Please, please, I wanna see you!” Yuuri shouts into the dark void. 

_ “Then, approach me.” _

From the dark void at the end of the room, he hears a loud creak, a door opening. He recalls that the door at the end of the rink leads to an unused basement and is always closed and he really shouldn’t enter a dark room that leads to an abandoned basement and yet, against all reasoning, Yuuri just goes, captivated. 

The sight he sees when he reaches his destination is unreal, unbelievable, impossible,  _ amazing _ .

Standing tall in front of him, faded lilac costume and a singular mask that covers half of his face, is  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ . Viktor (who is dead), who looks like he hasn’t aged a day (whose body is buried), who looks at him with icy blue eyes (whose death was confirmed by his contemporaries), who is solid just in front of Yuuri. 

Viktor is  _ here _ .

“Viktor? That’s... That’s you, right? You’re Viktor, right?” Yuuri stumbles upon words and he knows he either is dreaming or definitely went insane and he thinks he is going to cry not because of fear but because of absolute  _ joy _ .

“Oh, dear” he answers and his voice is light and breathless and distant and impossible and so, so  _ real  _ “you would never find someone else quite like me.”

Yuuri stands absolutely dumbfounded, watching his dead idol glow in front of him.

Viktor extends his hand. 

Yuuri ignores all the alarms screaming that there’s something wrong happening right now and  _ takes it _ . 

Yuuri takes his hand and it’s cold but solid and so  _ real _ and he lets himself be taken towards whenever Viktor inhabits, through frosty corridors with floors that seem covered in ice like the rink, through walls that slowly light up with candles, deeper and deeper and colder and darker. 

And Yuuri knows he is an idiot and he should be terrified but, instead, Yuuri can’t help but wonder if he isn’t dreaming, if this isn’t a pleasant dream instead of a nightmare, a dream where he encounters his ideal man.

If this  _ is _ a dream, then Yuuri hopes he just slips into a coma and never wakes up from it. 

When Viktor and he reach their final destination, Yuuri encounters a bizarre room that has dozens of ice skating memorabilia, candelabrum lit with melting candles and ice on the floor. Did Viktor transform the whole basement area, including the corridors, into an ice rink? It’s absurd but this entire situation is quite absurd anyway. 

“Do you live here, Viktor?”

“Living is subjective, I suppose, but I occupy this space, yes.”

“So… You really  _ are _ dead, then?”

Viktor smiles, but there is a very melancholic quality to his expression, like the smile someone bears when they remember a deceased loved one. “I remember feeling my breath escaping me and then I remember feeling awake again, but not alive, like I was in a permanent dream estate.” 

He skates through the place, eyeing Yuuri up and down, “I realized very quickly I couldn’t leave the rink and that not everyone could see me. The ones that could all repeated the same thing, that I had died, that I wasn’t supposed to be there. So, I decided that it was not worth it to walk around and retreated to a place I knew no one would come.”

“That’s… That’s awful. Don’t you get lonely, Viktor?”

“Ah, well, I do, but I was always a lonely person anyways. Watching the generations come and go from afar is enough for me.”

“But you never show yourself to anyone?”

“No, I don’t. It’s not really worth the headache and explanations.”

Yuuri plays with the loose threads in his clothing, the experience far too surreal and overwhelming for him to digest. “Then,” the most important question that remains unanswered “why did you come for me?”

Viktor glides to him quickly, all feline agility and grace, and grabs his chin with a gloved hand. His touch is soft but firm enough and his uncovered eye stares at him intently, even if it looks hollow if one gazes long enough. Yuuri blushes furiously and the contrast with his frigid temperature gives him shivers. 

“Ah, I forgot! What is your name, my dear?” he asks. 

Yuuri lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, “Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor rolls his name on his tongue, thick as molasses, and Yuuri almost melts to the ground, “I am very convinced you are the angel Heaven sent me to illuminate my path. When you are by yourself, your body plays such a sweet song and I can’t get enough if it.”

“I always welcome new students to this place, but you, Yuuri, are the only one I actually feel intrigued about,” he proceeds, thumb pressing on Yuuri’s lower lip “admittedly you are a train wreck in front of a crowd but in private there’s just something about you that’s irresistible. I feel like it would be a waste if I didn’t help get all this potential out.”

Yuuri’s brain by now is just white noise and pink goo; he chooses to believe that this is real because the hand on his chin is so  _ there _ , it just can’t be anything else but. Viktor Nikiforov is undead and called him  _ irresistible _ , him, Yuuri Katsuki, twenty three year old virgin who stumbles upon words when attractive people make eye contact. 

Viktor saw him mimic his routine and thought he was good enough and is offering to  _ coach _ him.  (Viktor is staring at him with predatory eyes as if he is going to strip him bare and ravish him right there.)

The hand on Yuuri’s chin moves lower and lower till it rests on  the nape of his neck. “So, what do you say, Yuuri? Would I be a suitable coach?” Viktor asks and _oh_ , Yuuri thinks he will never get used to him saying his name.

“How do I know this isn’t a dream?” Yuuri wants it so desperately to not be a dream but, how can he?

“That’s a good point. Here,” Viktor plucks the second golden button off his coat, “if you wake up in the morning and this doesn’t disappear, then I suppose you will have to believe me.”

“And if it’s not a dream?”

“Then, if you will have me, come back. I will always be waiting for you.”

Yuuri picks the button and stares at it, remembering how it’s a tradition in Japan for boys to give the second button of their school uniforms to the one they fancy because it’s the one closest to the heart. He doesn’t think Viktor knows this but it still warms him up; he is weak to compliments and he is weak to charm and Viktor is all compliments and charm and beauty, so much more breathtaking in person than old photographs and grainy films could capture, even if he looks washed out by the circumstances. 

Yuuri weights Viktor’s words in his mind and actually remembers he has to practice in the morning. “I should go back and try to sleep.”

“That, you should do.”

“But,” and he musters all the courage he has to look at Viktor one last time in the eye, “I will come back.”

Viktor  _ smiles _ so genuinely, eye closed and teeth shining, he looks like a child and it’s actually very endearing. “I will wait, and please, you can come whenever you want. It’s not like I have much to do here.”

“Okay…” he holds the button right upon his heart, beating like crazy, “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye, dear” he giggles, he honest to God  _ giggles. _

Yuuri turns around and goes back, passing through the corridor all over again as the lights slowly extinguish, door closing when he exits. He looks back and feels so dizzy, still wondering if this wasn’t a very vivid dream.

He sleeps holding the button tightly in his palm, and when he wakes up, it’s still there.

Yuuri comes back.

xXx

Yuuri came back on the next night, and the night after that, and so on.

“The  _ Eros _ , sexual love, erotic longing,” Viktor speaks so quietly it’s almost a sigh “people think it’s just a physical love but that’s incorrect. The  _ Eros _ is a form of mature love, of one who is ready to give themselves fully for the object of their affections.”

“The mere act of sex isn’t really what  _ Eros _ is about,” he continues “a teenager can have a sexual experience and that doesn’t make them mature. The maturity comes from understanding your own charms and how they can affect others.”

Yuuri hears attentively, desperately fighting the blush that creeps on his face. 

“If you want to fully convey the meaning of  _ Eros _ in your routine, Yuuri, you need to seduce the audience like they are your lover. Say, how was it with your previous lovers? How did they fall to your feet, what made them look at you differently?”

Ah, the dreaded question Yuuri was hoping he could avoid from all sources. He thinks about it, about the right way to answer it, because the answer is anticlimactic, and there’s no way Viktor could know that, although it is hysterical and odd that he assumed Yuuri would not only have experience on the topic, but also have _ more than one partner _ . 

No, Yuuri did not have any lovers in the past, he kissed a girl and a boy when he was a fumbling kid but as a teenager and a young adult he just wasn’t very…  _ Popular _ . What can he say? So many other skaters were flashier and more confident and he just fell behind. There was a person with whom he might have had something if it wasn’t for the fact that intimacy terrified him and he pushed them away. 

Did Viktor have many lovers when he was alive? Yuuri supposes so, Viktor was,  _ is _ a very handsome man and it’s very hard to believe that he didn’t have legions of fans falling by his feet. He probably bedded a few of them, he obviously speaks from experience. Yuuri grimaces at the thought and Viktor quickly notices.

“Oh, Yuuri, don’t tell me…” 

“I never had anyone” better to just rip the band aid off quickly.  

“But, how? You’re such a sweet young thing; I can’t imagine people not swooning all over you.”     

“Well…” he can feel his face warming up because  _ goddammit did Viktor just called him sweet _ “… Nobody really paid attention to me, everyone was either committed already or there was someone better.”  

Viktor does the thing he does constantly; he glides over and grips Yuuri’s face, staring deep at him. Viktor, Yuuri noticed on their daily encounters, is a very touchy person, always finding an excuse to put his hands on him somehow. Yuuri, however, can’t understand if Viktor is just like that or if his teasing him for his own amusement, or for something  _ else _ . 

“I think you’re lying, I don’t believe in you” Viktor says and his tone is actually the most serious Yuuri has heard so far.

“Yeah? Why would I lie about this?”

“Hm… I think lying maybe is not the right word. More like, you’re too busy wallowing in self-pity to consider that there have always been people looking at you and you just didn’t notice.”

Yuuri opens and closes his mouth for the lack of a good retort to that, unlikely as that scenario is.

He tries to change the focus “What about you? Did you have many lovers?”

“Oh, I had quite a few, but that means nothing.”

“How so? You said that to understand  _ Eros _ I needed to understand seduction.”

“Not exactly what I said, but I also called  _ Eros _ a form of  _ love _ , didn’t I?”

Viktor’s fake smile is so melancholic it makes Yuuri’s chest ache. 

(He suppresses very hard the inner voice that says  _ I could love you, Viktor _ . He doesn’t even know where that came from.)

“Anyway, this  _ is _ the basis for the routine. Why don’t I try to show you?”

Before Yuuri can object, Viktor glides through the room again, back turned to him. When he turns to face him, Yuuri understands what he meant by a body that plays music through their movements; the room is silent except for the sounds of the blades cutting the ice, but the way Viktor moves is enough for Yuuri to instantly listen to the music, each swing of hands and arms like the chords of the violin. 

And then some.

The performances Yuuri had the opportunity to see had an otherworldly quality to them, as if Viktor was an angel, so beautiful, so out of reach; this Viktor, however, transmits such a raw sexual energy Yuuri would almost believe he was indeed trying to actually seduce him. Each look, each turn, the sway of his hips—all as alluring as a flame would be to a moth. The tiny pang of jealousy he feels is overwhelmed by absolute awe and juvenile lust and perhaps,  _ perhaps _ something akin to longing. 

Some part of him had always crushed on the concept of  _ a _ Viktor Nikiforov, a long dead idol whose death makes him immune to disenchantment, whose young face is eternal and preserved as the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen. Yuuri would have never guessed the actual Viktor would be, rather than a light in a dark path, his absolute ruin.

Honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Viktor stops and stares at him, Yuuri could swear there was a challenge there, somewhere. He supposes the challenge for him to come remotely close to it is set, but his wishful thinking mind keeps on trying to read between imaginary lines.

“You see? This is what this number is about” Viktor smiles “a playboy who goes from town to town seducing the poor naïve ladies and then breaking their hearts when he leaves. Try to see me as a sweet girl who you, the Casanova type, want to have just for the fun of the challenge, and then throw me away.”

Yuuri controls his will to scoff “I don’t think I can be a playboy type.”

“Then,  _ what _ do you think about when you picture desire?” 

What does he think about, anyway? Ashy blonde, almost gray hair, clear blue eyes, pale skin, sharp angles…

“A… A  _ katsudon _ bowl.”

“A what?”

“Deep fried pork cutlet with eggs and rice.”

“ _ Oh” _ Viktor laughs and surprisingly enough, Yuuri is not hurt by it, his laugh is too boyish for him to be upset about, “then be the seductive  _ katsudon _ who wants to be eaten. That might work too.”

The practice follows as it became their usual, although Yuuri keeps ruminating in his head the concept of seduction, of  _ seducing _ .

He decides that after calling his family tonight, he will call Minako-sensei, his old ballet teacher in Hasetsu. After all, it’s been awhile since they last talked.

xXx

The music stops and so does Yuuri, staring at Yakov and company expectantly. 

The first seconds that pass are of absolute silence of his makeshift crowd of skaters, but soon enough, there is applause, Phichit and Mila’s cheerful praises and Yuuri knows Yakov won’t give him any of that, but there’s a pleased smile on his face and a “Well done, Yuuri” and that’s enough. 

It’s not  _ his _ approval he craves. 

Yuuri stares at his feet, trying to regain his breathing, pulse humming with excitement because  _ he did it _ , he presented the routine as it should be, he found his  _ Eros _ . He managed to captivate an audience, he managed to be  _ desired _ (or so he wants to believe), he managed to be  _ something _ .

The rest of the day is a blur, for his mind is too restless waiting for the sun to set. When the moon finally settles, he doesn’t even dine, he skates straight to the basement, too ecstatic to show Viktor his skating.

Viktor is excited, too. He sits down and waits for Yuuri to start expectantly, his uncovered eye reflecting a childlike curiosity, his lips pulled in an innocent smile. 

(There is a very boyish charm on Viktor, one he wouldn’t expect, and it’s honestly so endearing.)

Yuuri internally laments the lack of music, but closes his eyes anyway and tries his best to hear it, to remember the violin chords and the beat, the warm melody. He thinks of the long, long Skype session he had with Minako-sensei some nights ago, of playboys and damsels, of crushes on (un)dead idols. 

_ One, two, three… _

His arms swing, his hips twitch, and so he begins; his body moves like a waltz, like if he was someone else, someone who tried very hard to draw Viktor in, each movement an invitation, a promise, but never too close. Yuuri keeps enough distance between them as if being unreachable would only make him more and more appealing. 

It was crucial for him understanding that no matter how much he tries, he is not Casanova, he is not a libertine surrounded by pretty ladies—he is Carmen, instead; young and feisty, seducing young men passing by only to forget about them the morning after.

Yuuri prepares himself for the jumps, the most important part of the routine, the one that really counts. The first is the Triple Axel, the simplest, he lands surprisingly smoothly; he follows with the Quad Salchow and feels himself losing balance but holds himself together, barely, by the last minute. The Quad Toe-Triple Toe combination is clumsy at most, and the final sit spin is tiresome after a day full of training and his anxiety coming on him, but, he finishes it.

Yuuri falters facing Viktor at first, thinking that his errors were enough to ruin all of his efforts, thinking he made a fool of himself. He knows, however, that he can’t avoid looking at Viktor forever, and when he turns around, to his utmost surprise, Viktor is speechless, but smiling, a different smile from his other ones; this is one of absolute awe. Viktor laughs and claps his hands excitedly, like a toddler, and stands up quickly in order to skate closer to him, grasping his hands. 

“Yuuri, you are amazing!” he giggles, like he was drunk from watching Yuuri and the thought makes the later shiver “You looked so good, I thought you were going to kill me. Ah, I knew you could do it, you are so much better than you think you are…”

Yuuri fights back the blush rising to his cheeks, “How was it? The  _ Eros _ routine.”

“Mesmerizing. No one ever made me felt like that, not like you did. I felt like a teenager again, unable to control my feelings…”

_ Feelings _ , the word creeps on Yuuri’s mind and stays there, gnawing. Viktor just comes closer and closer until there’s little space left between them but this is unlike the times when he playfully flirts with him—there’s determination in his gaze, among other things Yuuri feels too scared to put a name on. The gloved hand touches his face and his lips like a rehearsed act and Yuuri, against all odds, touches back, tracing Viktor’s features, his skin cold like the ice but soft nonetheless. He touches the pearly mask that adorns his face and makes motion to take it off, but he is stopped by his wrist. 

“Don’t, Yuuri. Don’t do that.”

“Why? Why do you wear a mask? What is it that you don’t want me to see?”

“Does it even matter? I just don’t want you peeking on things you shouldn’t.”

Like a spell broken, Viktor lets Yuuri go and turns back, and Yuuri knows he really shouldn’t do this, he should respect Viktor’s wishes to privacy but, still… He must know. He  _ needs _ to figure out what is it that Viktor is hiding, why he is wearing a mask if there are no records of him ever wearing one. 

And like a child opening a drawer after their mother forbids them, Yuuri comes closer, as quiet as he can and carefully raises his hand, fingers slipping on cold porcelain, and he takes the mask off.

“ **_Yuuri!_ ** ” Viktor shouts, actually shouts with so much anger that Yuuri regrets it immediately. 

What was he even  _ thinking _ ? He ruined this moment, he absolutely ruined the only good thing he ever had, his one of a lifetime chance, he crossed a line and Viktor won’t  _ ever _ forgive him, he fucked up, he fucked up so badly,  _ Oh my god _ .

“V-Viktor I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh my god I’m such an idiot, take the mask back, I’ll never try this again, oh my god you must hate me now I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m—“

“Yuuri, why did you do this? When I asked for you  _ not _ to?”

“I don’t know! I… I was just so curious, I didn’t really think… I’m so sorry, I won’t do this again…”

Viktor turns around again to face him, a hand covering half of his face; he doesn’t look mad like Yuuri expected, instead he just looks tired and disappointed and Yuuri actually feels so much worse than if he was angry. He, of all people, can’t stomach the thought of disappointing anyone else anymore, let alone  _ Viktor _ …

“I don’t think what you want to see is so worth seeing. Do you really need to know what is under the mask?” Viktor doesn’t smile, doesn’t try to make light conversation.

“I don’t, not if it’s something you don’t want to show. I violated your intimacy, I’m so sorry…”

Viktor, however, ends up slowly withdrawing the hand from his face, revealing an angry mass of scars on his eye, multiple slashes. His eye looks blinded and the wound looks painful but seeing him completely, no secrets, no masks… Viktor also looks breathtakingly  _ beautiful _ , the most beautiful Yuuri has ever seen him. 

“Was it worth it? Is this what you wanted to see?” Viktor asks and his voice is hollow and Yuuri’s heart aches. 

“What happened to your face?” Yuuri skaters closer, even if Viktor rejects him.

“A bar brawl, you can say. It doesn’t really matter, it is what it is, ugly and tainting and I can’t stand looking at it.”

“I don’t think it’s ugly.”

“Well. I feel ugly, anyway.”

“You’re not ugly Viktor, you’re… The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Alive or otherwise, scarred or otherwise, you still look like an angel.”

“ _ An angel _ ” Viktor scoffs and Yuuri thinks he can see a tear by the corner of his eyes, but Viktor stops trying to run away from him and Yuuri tentatively tries to touch him. 

Yuuri tries to touch him, slowly but surely moving upwards his scars and he expects Viktor to shy away from him again, but he doesn’t, instead he closes his eyes and the tears roll quietly. 

“You still think I’m beautiful” he affirms incredulous, but it’s an affirmation nonetheless. 

“You are. You’ll always be.”

“ _ You _ are so beautiful, Yuuri, and you don’t even know it.”

Viktor cups his face and for a while they just stare at each other, anticipation beating fast and hard on Yuuri’s chest, and when Viktor finally,  _ finally _ kisses him after weeks of flirting and dancing around each other, Yuuri feels as if somehow this was always meant to happen. Viktor’s lips close around his like no one else’s ever did and even if they are frigid it’s still the sweetest kiss Yuuri has ever received, so gentle, so careful, so  _ caring _ . 

When Viktor pulls away Yuuri takes a quick breath just to recapture those lips himself, too inebriated on the feeling to stop. He feels a hand on his hair, on the small of his back, pulling him closer and he wishes there was a way for two bodies to occupy the same space because he can’t never be close enough to him. Yuuri careful experiments trying to slip his tongue between Viktor’s lips and he accepts them so eagerly, each quiet moan vibrating on his throat and making his chest feel so small. 

Eventually Yuuri does pulls apart when breathing gets too difficult and his jaw starts to hurt. If someone said they kissed for hours, he sure would have believed them. Viktor looks at him, wide eyes and blown out pupils, messy hair, body illuminated by candlelight and something deep in Yuuri’s head chants  _ angel, angel, angel _ …

“I should go… I have practice tomorrow…” Yuuri whispers but doesn’t really mean it.

“Stay. If only for tonight, please, stay with me…”

He stays, for how can Yuuri ever deny Viktor when his voice is so lonely?

xXx

It becomes his routine. 

Hard practice by day, Yakov stern eyes on him and quick commands, having lunch with Phichit and the gang, taking Yuri’s insults and just smiling in return, more practice until his coach calls it a day and sends them away. Sneaking out at night, more practice, Viktor’s soft but firm commands and tentative hands and mouths as a reward for a job well done. 

(Yuuri idly traces the purple stains in his skin, decorating the stretch marks on his thighs, blushing while recalling all the things Viktor lets him do. Let it never be said that Viktor is not an absolute  _ enabler _ .)

This morning, however, Yakov is late. When he does arrive, he carries with him a stack of papers and all the skaters know what that must be. 

“Alright, alright. Everybody gather around to hear who is going where during this season” he doesn’t waste time.

Yuuri’s mind blanks and he feels actually very stupid because his whole  _ thing  _ going on with Viktor made him forget the reason why he was here in the first place, what he was training  _ for _ . The skating season is here and, suddenly, Yuuri is very nervous thinking he won’t have Viktor by his side when he competes. 

Yakov’s words are unintelligible until he finally says “Yuuri Katsuki, you’ll be competing in the Cup of China with Phichit Chulanont and in the Rostelecom Cup with Yuri Plisetsky.” 

_ Ah, that’s not good _ .

Yuuri stands, conflicted. A part of him is really excited because he is, after all, really competing again, but there is a slowly building dread within him, one that is very unlike the one he usually feels when his anxiety gets the best of him. It occurs to Yuuri, for the first time, that not only he’ll be traveling for the competition, but that also when it’s all over and he gets, probably, fifth place or something, he will have to go back to Japan.

And he can’t take a ghost back home with him. What honestly did he thought his life was going to be? Living in a basement forever? Forgetting about his skating career, which brought him here in the _first_ _place_?

Phichit as always jumps at him, excited that they will compete together, but Yuuri can’t even hear the boy, only thinks of his lonely ghost being left behind again, of being blinded by love and doing inconsequential things.

The lights in the rink turn off, all at once. 

Yakov dismisses it as probably just electricity problems, until the speakers on the ceiling say, “ _ China, Yuuri? You are going to China? Ah... _ ” 

Oh.

Oh, that can’t be good. 

What happens in the following minutes is a stunned silence, quickly succeeded by a generalized feeling of panic, of people restlessly skating and running, of screams of “ _ It’s the Ghost! Can’t you hear, it’s the Ghost!” _ and of Yakov tries to stop the turmoil, “ _ Everybody  _ **_stop_ ** _ it! There is no ghost,  _ **_go back to your places_ ** _! _ ” 

It doesn’t do much, because the skaters and staff run over each other trying to leave, even if some bystanders, like Phichit himself, Mila and even Yuri, stay behind wanting to see what will happen next, fulfilled by the urban legends and curiosity. 

There is a loud creaking sound coming from the darkest corners of the rink.

Yuuri finds himself paralyzed to his spot when he sees the masked figure slowly approaching him, pulling him in. He doesn’t hear the frantic screams around him, the commotion towards them, he just takes the hand that is offered to him and is enclosed by darkness.

\---

Yuri Plisetsky is not a particularly religious boy. 

He believes in God and his faith is important to him, but he isn’t one to follow traditions. Yuri, certainly, is not  _ superstitious _ . He doesn’t believe in old hags living in wooden houses and in monsters hidden beneath beds, doesn’t believe in mermaids in the ocean luring sailors in and he  _ definitely _ doesn’t believe in ghosts.

So when he watches a man who is very obviously Viktor Nikiforov approaching the pork cutlet guy and then  _ vanishing _ with him, Yuri is skeptical, to say the least; he is sure what he saw was an illusion influenced by the collective madness going around him. Even if he can’t make sense of an apparent masked Viktor magically kidnapping Yuuri Katsuki, there must a logical explanation he is not sure if he is even interested in. 

His  _ personal _ old hag, though…

“It seems Viktor’s loneliness finally got the best of him. Didn’t think I would live to see the Rink Ghost again” Lilia says, not shocked or scared, just stating a fact, as someone would look at the sky and conclude it is raining. 

” _ Viktor Nikiforov _ is the Rink Ghost!?” the Thai boy (Phichit?) exclaims.  _ Good God,  _ he acts as if the plot of a novel had just unraveled, not like his friend was  _ kidnapped  _ right in front of him. 

“Lilia,  _ don’t _ . There is no such thing as a ‘Rink Ghost’ and we both know it, don’t you dare start this again.” Yakov seems pissed enough. 

Was it Lilia, then, the one to start the Ghost rumor?

“Viktor didn’t live a truly fulfilling life and after desperately trying to detach himself from our world, it seems he gave in to solitude and decided to kidnap your Japanese skater.”

“ _ Viktor is dead _ , Lilia! Vitya was young and reckless and lived an unorthodox life and he died. I  _ know it _ because I was the one who found the corpse and who touched his wrist to check if he was alive,  _ and he wasn’t _ . You and I were both there when the coffin was closed and buried six feet underground. Let the man stay dead, Lilia!”

“You and I were also here when _Vitya_ inexplicably showed up for practice the next morning. You and I were also here when he spent almost a decade making everyone’s life a living hell because he couldn’t understand why he was still here. And _you and I_ ,” Lilia approaches Yakov until there’s very little space separating them “saw him right now taking that young man away. What’s the point of denying, Yakov? Too afraid of admitting that unhappy souls stay behind?”

“There is no such thing as ghosts, Lilia and it’s almost  _ blasphemous _ to say there are. This is all a collective delirium people like you made to keep his memory alive.”

“Alright, then. Please, do wait for your boy to come back and when he doesn’t you can lament he mysteriously ran away.” 

The angry electricity in the air is broken by, of all people, Mila, “Yakov, please. It doesn’t matter if you believe in the Ghost or not,  _ something _ happened here and we need to find Yuuri.”

“Yeah, they can’t be very far! What if something bad happens to him? We really need to find Yuuri” Phichit adds and he actually looks serious and concerned, for once.

Yakov draws a long sigh, “Alright, alright, you two can go look around for him. I don’t want to hear about this anymore for today.” 

Yakov leaves and Mila, Phichit and some other people who also did not ran away, like Georgi, tag along (Georgi says something about love but Yuri mostly ignores him).  Yuri is ready to go back to his dorm when Lilia places her old and bony hand on his shoulder. 

“Yuri. Viktor lives in the basement because no one else uses that place anymore.”

“And just what am I supposed to do with this piece of information, old lady?”

“Go after them. Viktor is not dangerous, he is just very frustrated and not really thinking; Yuuri is probably not either, but I’m sure you can talk him out of this.”

“ _ Pfft _ , yeah, like I care. Whatever happened here is none of my business. Why don’t  _ you _ go after them if you care so much?”

“I don’t think Viktor wants to see me or Yakov, not after some things that happened a long time ago.” 

Lilia turns around and walks away, heels clacking on the floor. “I’m sure you will make the right decision, Yurotchka” she says, closing the door behind her.

Yuri scoffs some more and starts skating towards the darkness in the opposite direction. 

xXx

Viktor is silent the whole walk (skate?) towards his lair, but his movements are frantic enough and his hand holds Yuuri’s so tightly it hurts and cuts off his circulation. His back is turned to Yuuri, who actually feels rather grateful for it, for he wouldn’t bear looking at whatever face Viktor is making right now.

When they do arrive, Viktor stops, looking down at the ground, still not facing Yuuri and if he could breathe he would probably be holding back a sob, but instead there’s only a heavy silence that announces a storm.  Yuuri breaks the silence when his limbs become numb, “Viktor, please let go of my hand, you’re hurting me.” 

Viktor releases him as if his touch stings, but doesn’t apologize, he skates away instead, opening a seemingly very old and dark chest and rummaging through it, throwing some things away, until he finds something and stops, standing up.

“Yuuri…” Viktor says, turning around, and on his face is stamped the fakest smile Yuuri has ever seen, “Let’s get married.” 

He opens what is a tiny velvety box to reveal two golden bands, and Yuuri tries to ignore his mind trying to understand why Viktor had that in the first place to focus on the actually important questions.

That is, “W-What…?”

“We should get married, so we can live together forever!” 

“What? Viktor, I can’t do this! You’re a ghost, my forever and your forever are not the same thing, what are you going to do when I die?”

“That is not a problem! You become a ghost like me and we can enjoy the afterlife together.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri sighs in exasperation “I have a life outside here! I have a home back in Japan, I can’t… I can’t do this…”

Yuuri skates away and Viktor, surprisingly doesn’t stop him, but that is not the end of the argument because when he tries to open the door, he finds it locked. 

“Viktor, the door is locked” Yuuri says and his tone is a warning.

“That, it is.”

“ _ Why _ is it locked?”

“If I open this door you will go to China and then Japan and I will stay here, alone.”

“Viktor, you can’t do this! I have a  _ career _ and places to go… Please,  _ please  _ open that door…” 

Yuuri is almost crying by now, in frustration, but Viktor doesn’t dare look at him, glued to his spot. Yuuri takes the mask off again and he can see Viktor  _ is _ , indeed, crying, and despite the fact that a four decade old ghost tried to hold him hostage in a basement, Yuuri finds out he actually pities Viktor, in a way. 

There is indeed a deep, warm feeling in his heart when he thinks of Viktor, and Yuuri would be lying if he said he ever felt this way for anyone else before. 

“I am being selfish, am I not?” Viktor says, quietly, a murmur that barely escapes his lips.

“You are. But, you are only human and humans sometimes are selfish…” 

“It’s just! I shouldn’t even be here, I don’t know what traps me here on Earth and I stopped looking for it long ago. I spent so much time terrorizing Yakov and Lilia and  _ everyone,  _ trying to make some sense out of it but even this bored me. I decided to just wait and see what new people were doing because maybe it would make this easier.”

“But it didn’t!” Viktor by now is violently crying a breathless cry and Yuuri is too stunned to say anything “It gets harder to see people  _ living _ while I stay there. And then  _ you  _ came by and I swear that I thought you were some sort of guardian angel sent by Heaven because you were just so  _ perfect _ and I fell in love with you a little bit every time. And you made me feel so  _ alive _ again and I never cared so much for someone like I cared for you and… I just…” 

“Viktor, hey, it’s okay…” 

Viktor slouches to the floor, hands pressed firmly against his eyes and Yuuri just rests his own hand on his hair as a form of comfort, because  _ what  _ can he say, really?

“I know it’s unfair to keep you here but I don’t want you to go away, it’s… It’s so lonely down here, Yuuri…” 

Yuuri doesn’t answer, just plays with his thin hair and thinks about Viktor, thinks about the man who is crouching down in front of him, the ghost who haunted him in such sweetly unspeakable ways he feels absolute powerless to deny him anything else. He can hear a clicking sound, he knows Viktor unlocked the door but doesn’t question how and doesn’t move. 

“Can anybody tell me  _ what the hell _ is going on here?”

They both turn towards the entrance of the basement to see Yuri standing there,  _ of all people _ , his permanent angry scowl even worse than usual and his body language impatient. 

“Ah, you must be the so-called Yuri Plisetsky.” Viktor says, standing up, cleaning tears and not bothering with the mask anymore. 

“Yeah, and you’re Viktor Nikiforov. You look awful and last time I checked you were supposed to be dead.”

“I  _ am  _ dead.”

“ _ Fascinating _ , now tell me what is going on.”

Before Viktor can open his mouth again, Yuuri speaks up “I was deciding to stay here with Viktor.”

Yuri screams an angry, outraged “ **_What!?_ ** _ ”  _ while Viktor says nothing, looking at him with his mouth agape. 

“ _ What _ ? Are you really going to throw away your career to stay with a ghost?” Yuri shouts, getting closer to where they stand.

“I already threw my career away last year. I wasn’t even supposed to be here.” 

“Yuuri…” Viktor grasps his hand so gently it burns “Don’t do this, please, you are young and you can’t let an old man like me steal you away from the world.”

“You wouldn’t be stealing me; I would just make a fool of myself in the Cup of China and after that. I’m not a good skater, my career was doomed from the start, and I am happy with you, I should stay here.”

“Oh,  _ cut the crap _ , Katsuki!” Yuri snaps “You think you’re a bad skater? You won enough competitions to make you get noticed by the International circuit and you are a fucking hero to your hometown, you are also Japan’s  _ number one skater _ , I can’t believe you’re letting  _ one _ bad performance destroy your life.”

“You wouldn’t understand it, Yuri.” 

“Damn right I wouldn’t, you are making one big mistake  _ right now _ . Celestino,  _ Yakov _ , everyone is giving you a second chance and you’re using a dead man as an excuse to hide behind your insecurities.”

“Yuuri, listen to the angry kid” Viktor laughs, humorless. 

“ _ Viktor _ , please, I love you, I don’t want to go back anymore…”  

Yuuri kisses him in absolute desperation and Viktor at first doesn’t respond, until he grabs his shoulders and kisses him back with so much passion and sweetness and Yuuri can taste Viktor’s tears in the kiss and can hear Yuri’s displeased noises at the background but ignores it and kisses Viktor some more. Viktor doesn’t let him go when they stop, he just gives him the tightest hug he can and looks deeply in his eyes. 

Viktor cups his face “Yuuri, leave. Go away, right now.”

“Viktor, please, I made my decision, you were right, it’s unfair to leave you behind.”

“You have a family, Yuuri. Friends.  _ Opportunities _ .” 

“I can talk to them from here. I am not an adventurous person; I wouldn’t mind staying with you.”

“Yuuri, believe me that nothing would make me happier than seeing you with a gold medal, or any medal. Go, and win, and then maybe come back sometime. But don’t waste your potential here.”

“Ah, potential…” Yuuri’s mocking is just exhausted. 

“ _ Yes _ , potential. Yuuri, today I entrust you to keep the Nikiforov legacy alive and it would  _ disappoint me  _ so much to see you here, hiding from the world.”

It is a sucker punch and they both know it but it’s enough to make Yuuri realize that Viktor indeed doesn’t want him here, away from the competition, the prizes, the merits. Yuuri would be hurt, had he been younger, thinking that Viktor was doing this out of a secret hatred, wishing to kick him out, but instead, Yuuri thinks that  _ maybe _ , just maybe, he understands why Viktor is doing this, why he is contradicting himself, and it cuts a deep wound in his chest that will probably never heal. 

“Okay. Okay, I… I will leave.”

“Oh, Yuuri…” Viktor hands him a ring, placing it in his finger “Take this with you. As a lucky charm.”

“Alright.”

“And, oh, also this” Viktor very quickly skates away to the wooden chest and pulls a dark costume and Yuuri knows  _ exactly  _ what that is “wear this in your  _ Eros  _ routine. Everybody will be so impressed.”

“I can’t accept this people will ask me how I’ve got it.”

“Then wear it during your free time, or keep it hidden in a closet. But, keep the outfit, anyway.” 

“Okay.”

They look at each other and smile and it’s a sad smile, a parting one, and Yuuri is really having trouble trying not to change his mind again.

“Ah, and” Viktor remembers “think of me, maybe? Sometimes? Think of me.”

“I will. I don’t think anyone can forget you, Viktor.”

“Good, ah, that’s good…”

Viktor kisses him again, a quick brush on his lips.

“I will come to visit you, when I come back to train” Yuuri says. 

“Don’t. That would just be looking behind you when you exit from Hell.”

They laugh and actually, genuinely  _ laugh _ this time and Yuuri wants to sob like a baby because the only man he ever loved and ever loved him back is a ghost and he will probably not see him again, ever. Yuri coughs behind them, Yuuri gives him a one final hug and kiss on the cheek, “Goodbye, Viktor.”

“Goodbye, Yuuri. Thanks for making this old man’s afterlife a little lighter.” 

“I will never forget you, I really won’t” and God, does he  _ mean  _ it.

Yuri grabs him by the arm, and they skate away. 

(Yuuri doesn’t look behind to check if his Eurydice was still there, he knows how the story ends.)

xXx

When Yuuri comes back just as inexplicably as he disappeared, Phichit and everyone’s first reaction is of general relief and then rejoice. They took a while looking for him in staff rooms, rummaging through every dark corner, but in the end it was the angry Russian boy who found him. (Mila did a great lot of teasing about it when they went out to commemorate Yuuri’s safety later that night.)

As for Yuuri, he didn’t talk much about what happened other than saying he was in the basement, which Phichit didn’t even thought of looking because they were stupid, or something. He did confirm that Viktor Nikiforov was really the Rink Ghost and while Phichit mercilessly bothered him about the ring on his finger, Yuuri didn’t want to explain, and actually looked a bit sad. 

The night before they left for China, Phichit decided to imitate Yuuri and sneaked out to the mysterious basement. To his utmost disappointment, he didn’t found much, other than an improbable subterranean ice rink, some old memorabilia and a single, pearly porcelain mask lying on top of a chest.

**Author's Note:**

> and... this is it
> 
> thank you so much for reading
> 
> I had this idea of a Phantom of the Opera AU since the beginning of the anime because the interaction between Yuuri and Viktor, for me, screamed POTO-- and then it didn't, but the idea was still there
> 
> if you are familiar with the story, you'll notice that my take is very different-- Viktor is actually dead, unlike Erik, who was just the Weird Guy Living In The Opera's Basement  
> Viktor is also not murderous like Erik is, and to shape him like the original phantom would be OOC and honestly quite boring  
> which is also why I opted for an complete AU approach-- because quoting POTO word by word, well, was not interesting for me  
> I also didn't put a Major Character Death warning because Viktor was already dead in this story, but I can put it if you guys think it's better
> 
> if you're not familiar with The Phantom Of the Opera and wants to be, I recommend you to watch "The Phantom of the Opera at the Royal Albert Hall", with Sierra Borgess as Christine and Ramin Karimloo as Erik
> 
> last, I'm on tumblr @ what-she-came-for and twitter @ florescativas (oh, and yeah, English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for that)
> 
> okay bye


End file.
